Kudos to pinkskyplanet for the prompt!

The first time had been accidental, the second on purpose. Both of them necessary. Yan Dooku never told a soul. Now, standing on the edge of Serenno's towering cliffs, he decides that the Jedi Council's reactions might be worth it. They can't possibly scorn him more than they already have, and they certainly can't scold him like an immature youngling messing with things he shouldn't mess with.

The green mountainsides, glistening waters, and elegant infrastructure of his home planet's capital all seem to echo the sentiment. Coruscant's Temple pales in comparison to this. Truly. Not even the infamous gardens can compare. If not for his unkempt rebel of a protégé, he would have left much sooner. Maybe he should have.

Qui-gon would have loved this view.

Yan sighs. Glancing down, he stares at his left hand and pulls sparking, stinging, crackling energy into existence. It takes only a touch more effort than other abilities, greater than a push and less than certain repulses. Hardly anything of note. At least not now, because he's studied and perfected it in secret during the darker hours. Without Jocasta's permission – that, more than anything, makes him almost regret it. He'd been so very afraid of her reaction, though of his few friends she'd have been the last to judge.

He holds it steady, this saber-blue mass of sun-hot destruction. He holds it steady and wonders what the fuss is about. Do they know what this is? Do they understand that a lightsaber carries the same energy, just more focused, possibly more bent on rending limbs? He wagers they only see form and not much more, and he can't deny that he'd used every last bit of Jedi dogma to his advantage both times. The first: a 'slip of the tongue', as it were. The second: pure expediency, though the fear factor had certainly helped.

Shenda Mol had been terrified and had deserved it.

Then again… his padawan hadn't fared much better. Qui-gon's look still haunts him occasionally, flashing behind his eyes when his thoughts stray into darker arenas. Bits of lightning fizzle around his fingers, brightening and dimming with the beat of his heart, a trick he'd used on solo missions to calm himself when meditation failed. It soothes him now as well.

"Sir."

Without turning, he drops his hand. The light blinks out. "Yes, Ami?"

"Perhaps you should come inside, sir. Storms in this area are often… aggressive."

He smiles. Sadly. "So I've heard. I will be in in a moment."

"Very well, sir."

He listens to his butler's fading steps and lifts his head to glance at the darkening sky. True to Ami's word, and to Serenno's reputation, the thick clouds gathering overhead appear almost black with thin bits of green. His smile sharpens. Aggressive, the man had said.

Ha.

He remembers he'd lectured Mol, briefly, on her ignorance as to the true nature of power. His little demonstration had been but a shadow of the real thing – the thing thousands of feet above him now, rearing up to unleash bolts of searing heat onto the ground beneath his feet. His own ability falls woefully short and rightly so. Thankfully so. Yan has an inkling of the rottenness his own soul could unleash should he choose to walk down that road. Thank the Force, or whatever deity is responsible, for small mercies. It sickens him to think about it, so he shakes the thought from his mind, sets his hand to crackling once more, considers the forest a dozen yards to his left, and nods to himself.

An experiment. Good, something to occupy his hyperactive mind for a bit. Rough rock transitions into rich soil as he nears the tree line. He stops once the earth feels damp and soft, devoid of the solid surface he'd been standing on. With but a second's consideration, he sends a single blast of lightning into the ground at his feet. Kneeling, he brushes his fingers through the scorched earth.

Nothing.

The study had called them barak crystals, a name originating from an ancient language born on an old planet hosting an old people. He can't remember the name of the language, but he has to admire the linguistics: barak. The first syllable is drawn out, the second added as a sharp crack on the end. Thunder and lightning represented in spoken language. Brilliant, Yan thinks, even if the order is backwards.

No such luck here, though. Though he knows the heat level compares with that of the weapon hanging on his hip, he knows it's nowhere close to what will soon come down from the angry thunderheads far above him. He'll have to wait. Rising to his feet, he scrutinizes the ground one last time before heading inside.

***oo***

Yan manages to convince Ami to educate him on the necessary precautions for a storm such as this. It doesn't take much. He thinks Ami only puts up a mild protest due to his position as a servant – the man barely argues. "Very well, sir."

Smiling a little, Yan nods. "Lead the way; I'll follow you, and please… spare me no details."

It becomes apparent that Ami has already taken the necessary precautions to prepare for the storm, but he dutifully leads his new boss around the castle, stopping to explain why specific electric switches were thrown or why pieces of furniture had been moved away from windows. At the end of their extensive tour, he explains the area's history with electrical storms and the damage that often followed. He assures him their residence is well-equipped to handle most of what nature can throw at them.

He ends with a question. "If I may, sir… earlier, your hand." He clears his throat, but where a more timid man might have looked away, Ami holds his gaze. "You can create it? Lightning? I have not heard of this, and I have read many things."

This man, in some ways, reminds him of Qui-gon. Slow to judge, quick to give chances. So many chances. Yan finds that he's the one looking away, or down, rather. He briefly lets a few sparks play between his fingers before finding Ami's eyes once more. Surprisingly, the man doesn't appear to have given the display more than half a glance. "You are a rare man, Ami," Yan says.

Ami's grin is a gentle splash on his thin face. "This I have been told," he agrees. "Jedi do not do what you do," he adds, obviously not keen on shifting topics.

"Most do not, no," he amends. "They think it springs from detrimental emotions."

Ami's head tilts. "Detrimental?"

Clever man. "Dark. Damaging. Destructive."

"Dangerous?"

Neither one of them looks away. Yan quirks a brow. "Perhaps."

Ami gives a quick shake of his head. "You are not dangerous, sir. Not right now. But I think you are capable of it." A blinding light makes them both wince and a deafening CRACK is hot on its heels. Ami gestures them away from the nearest window, though they both turn their gazes towards it in order to watch the show. "I watched you from this window. You were shooting lightning at the ground. Why?"

"I'm sure you could have used that time more effectively," Yan says, curious as to how the man might respond. He watches him out of the corner of his eye.

Ami dips his head, though he grants Yan only a momentary glance. "That's debatable, sir. The storm you see now could have begun at any moment and you were deigning to admire the, I'll admit, very fine soil of one of the city's highest points."

Yan frowns. "Speak plainly, Ami."

This time the man smirks. "Perhaps not your finest moment… sir."

"Plainly."

Ami turns and locks eyes with him. "You were being, begging the smallest of pardons, idiotic, ignorant, imbecilic, irresponsible, and ineffective with your own time, sir. Not only did you not find what you were looking for, but you might have died and the most I could have done was make sure that you were not alone in your last moments."

Yan merely nods and turns his attention back to the storm. So far, it has seen fit to spare their – their… his and Ami's? – cliffside, but the ridge across the deep valley looks to be receiving a steady barrage of high-wattage haymakers. "You're right. I apologize." He can feel Ami's stunned expression and chuckles. "I will admit to an occasional moment of stupidity, my friend."

"Friend? Sir, you barely know me."

"You're the only staff member I retained, Ami, and you obviously have a keen understanding of your position." The somewhat abashed look on the man's face lets him know that he need not expound on that point. "I admire your honesty as well as your fortitude to be what most of Serenno's ruling class are not. They, and I, have much to learn from your presence. Nevertheless," he pauses, mulling his next words over. "I must warn you, though I am not prone to fits of emotion I can sometimes be…"

"Unapproachable?"

"At best. Tread carefully."

"Duly noted."

"How long have you served my house?"

"Long enough to know my place, and long enough to be a fortitudinous nuisance, sir." He flashes another quick smile and then moves away before Yan can speak. "Enjoy the show. I will bring us some tea."

***oo***

The final moments of the storm find them reclining in armchairs pulled over to the window. Ami had deemed it safe after concurring that the storm's energy was focused completely on the far ridge. How the man had determined 'completely' is beyond Yan, but he trusts him. He's been to planets where natives can read seas, winds, and dunes as easily as he reads the Force's currents, and he trusts Ami's ability to read Serenno's storms.

"The tea is different," Yan comments. Only a little bit remains in his cup; they've been sipping it for hours and haven't spoken much.

"You don't like it?"

"I prefer wine."

Ami huffs a laugh. "Then you would find this very different, yes. I will try to remember…" He trails off and reaches into his pocket. Yan watches as he removes a small black object. "I believe you were attempting to create one of these during your moment of stupidity."

Yan flashes him an annoyed frown but reaches his hand forward. "A storm made this?"

"Yes. Your lightning is not strong enough to make them; if you can stare into it, it's not hot enough. On our planet, these are known as 'zaps'. It's what the children call them."

Yan holds the stone up for a closer look. It's warped in places, jagged in others, with streaks of glittering gold smudged with reds, greys, and tiny flecks of green. Most of it resembles obsidian, born from a volcanic eruption rather than an electrical storm. He stares, mesmerized by it, but he directs a comment towards Ami. "It's a barak, correct?"

"That's the oldest name for it, yes. Most languages have a variation of that name, at least in meaning; a play on 'lightning stone' – though barak implies the energy made manifest rather than a new entity altogether. The name is unique in that sense."

"It fits."

"So does zap."

Yan decides to let this childish preference slide. Instead he closes his fist around the barak and looks at Ami. "In your extensive reading, do you recall learning about lightsaber construction?"

Brown eyes narrow. "These stones are very erratic, sir. I would not recommend them for lightsabers. Serenno's finest scientists have been researching them for years, and have discovered some unique ways to use them, but it takes a lot of fine-tuning to make them suitable for use."

"Cautionary tale aside, do you think it can be done? Constructing a lightsaber around them?"

Ami stares at him, jaw tight. "Do you, sir?"

"I do."

"Then why waste my energy on cautionary tales? Do as you like, sir. I'll clean up." He stands, reaching for Yan's cup. Yan hands it over silently, noting the double entendre, and watches his butler retreat towards the kitchen.

I'll clean up.

I'm planning on multiple chapters for this prompt, similar to Obi-wan/Dignity. Let me know what you think! And, if you're interested, 'barak' is a Hebrew name that I used for the lightning rocks (it means 'lightning')... and fulgurites are the inspiration for those rocks. Look them up - they're pretty cool! Though most of them are not exactly the most photogenic, haha.